Marital Bitch(79)

"James! We got a 10-26 over on Dorchester," Brad shouts and clips the radio to his belt. James appears in his suit. I surmise that they're heading out to work now. So now, not only do I have to wait until after an arrest to get some time with my husband, now I have to wait until the end of his shift, too. Damn it. That is, if he feels the same, but I don’t let myself consider that.

"Wait!" I scream and rush to place myself between Brad and the front door. "I said I love you!" I put my hands on my hips in annoyance. This is supposed to be my big moment. He's supposed to be overcome with joy. He's supposed to be ravaging me. This is supposed to be my big romantic gesture. What the hell?

"Yeah, I heard you, crazy. Now, I have to go!" Brad's calm demeanor has cracked and slides past me and runs out the door at full speed. James spares one look at Darla and then at me and runs out the door after him. In my frenzied state, I chase (okay, so it's more of a run/waddle) after them, shaking my fist.

"I'm going to kick your butt when you get home, Bradley Patrick!" As I'm shaking my fist at his retreating form, I hear laughing behind me. I turn around to see Darla, Lindsay, and Adam in various states of undoing. Their faces are contorting and they're turning purple. All it takes is for Adam to double over in a fit of laughter before the other two follow their lead. This continues on until Lilly and Alex make their way over to see what the ruckus is about. Soon, the kids join in laughing even though they have no clue what they're laughing about.

"That was really awkward," Adam manages to get out in between breaths.

"I have never seen an 'I love you' go like that before," Lindsay squeaks out as she clings to Adam for support.

"What just happened?" I ask. One minute I'm bearing my soul and the next I'm the butt of a joke. I replay it in my head and soon I'm laughing, too. And then I have to pee. Small tears spring from my eyes; because really, on what planet does that ever happen? How does it happen that you tell someone you're in love with them and they call you crazy and then run away?





CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

(Brad)





Congratulations.





WE'RE NOT PREGNANT and it's just something I'm going to have to deal with. I've been dealing with it. I just wish I weren't dealing with it alone, across the street. I am the one who walked out, but that doesn't make it any easier. Whatever my pretty girl's going through, I want to go through it with her; only she doesn't want me to.

Colleen has been crying at the drop of a hat lately and it's wearing me out. When I acknowledge that she's upset, she gets even more upset and tells me to go away. When I pretend that I don't notice the tears, she accuses me of being a heartless bastard. And then there's the eating. The woman eats all the time. I'm starting to wonder if maybe a clearance pregnancy test was such a good idea, because Colleen is reminding me a lot of Darla when she was pregnant.

It's been weeks since we found out that we are not going to have a baby; and we definitely haven't been engaging in any activity that leads to a baby, so it looks like parenthood is out for now—which really sucks. It's not that I have "baby rabies" like chicks get. It's just that having a kid with Colleen would be pretty cool. My pretty girl would make a beautiful baby—crazy, but beautiful.

I don't know what to do with her—not that I ever have. And the worst part is that I don't think she wants me to do anything with her. It feels like I'm losing her more and more every day that goes by that I'm not with her. It's terrifying. I've never been so close to having her and losing her all at the same time.

It's been nearly a week since I left the house. I didn't know what else to do. She didn't want me there. She doesn't seem to want me anywhere, so I left. She didn't exactly say she wants out, but that was the gist of the idea. And now she's here at James's—my refuge—and I can't decide if I want to scream at her or if I want to kiss her; not that that's anything new.

She asks if we can talk and I want to talk to her. It's just bad timing. I'm about to head out on shift and if the conversation goes bad, then the entire shift is going to be awful. And maybe I'm a baby because I can't handle it if she tells me she wants out. Just maybe.

"Here's fine," I say. We have an audience—a bunch of nosey bastards making no attempt to give us any privacy—but whatever. I just want to get this over with. If she's going to leave me, I'd rather it be quick. And if I'm being honest with myself, she looks like she wants to leave me; or the house at least. She wants to run, I can see it. Midway through my frustration at our very private conversation being made public by a bad venue, she starts rambling.

"I love you," she screams at a level I swear I thought only dogs could hear. My mouth falls open. She looks very uncomfortable; her eyes shut tight, fists at her sides. This doesn't look like my Colleen. This is that other Colleen that I don't care for very much. My Colleen isn't afraid of anything; but this woman is terrified. The fear is practically rolling off her in waves, sweat beads forming on her forehead.